Imperial
by M G John
Summary: AU. Left abandoned on the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive; Harry Potter passed away in the early hours of November 2nd. Cause of Death, Pneumonia. At least, that's what the altered memories of Petunia Dursley would have you believe.


_For the purposes of this story Lord Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow on October 31__st__ 1980 instead of 1981._

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of Rowling's characters, nor am I receiving any monetary compensation for this work._

**IMPERIAL**

**- Prologue –**

She had only been there once before, and she had made a solemn vow to herself that day; that she would never return, never allow herself to become part of their freak show, taking pride in their every peculiarity. It had been 9 years since she had visited Diagon Alley with her family, and she was certain that it was only her vow that left her the sole surviving member. Huddling the coat around her so as to conceal herself, she made her way through the murky pub. She needn't have bothered, she soon discovered, the patrons were too caught up in their celebrations to pay attention to a lone figure, travelling in the shadows.

Exiting the building she found herself in the somewhat familiar alleyway, her path blocked by a wall. But this was no ordinary wall, that much she remembered; there was some password, or a code, some means of causing the wall to open, granting access to the repulsive alley that lay beyond it. Her immediate thought was to yell 'Open Sesame' but even to her that seemed unlikely. She was stuck. Perhaps it was divine intervention preventing her from remembering the trick; maybe she wasn't meant to continue on in her mission? It was just as she was turning to leave, the bricks began to fold in on themselves, first forming a small gap before gradually stretching into an arch behind which three men stood supporting one another. She froze, what if they recognised her? Could tell that she didn't belong? Goodness, was she even allowed to be here? Luckily the men paid her no attention, seemingly oblivious to her presence, as they staggered up the alleyway shouting non-sensical phrases.

"_To Ogden's!_"

"_To Quidditch!_"

"_To the Boy-Who-Lived!_"

They were drunk. If the drivel weren't enough to identify it, their poor coordination most definitely gave it away. It was disgusting behaviour. Even now, as they meandered slowly towards the pub entrance, they made no attempt to hide their debauchery. Their behaviour strengthened her resolve, they kind were all the same, unrefined, ill-mannered and most assuredly beneath her. Scurrying through the arch she turned sharply, clinging to the wall as a small smile gracing her features. She had achieved the first stage of her plan.

She considered her situation; if she were honest with herself, she hadn't expected to get this far, not really. Having done so she felt compelled to continue, but where now? She would have to be careful, one wrong move from here on and she'd most definitely be arrested, they had policemen didn't they? She was almost certain she'd heard her sister talking about them once. Yes, now that she thought on it they had a prison to, one misstep and they'd surely lock her away, her family never knowing what happened to her. Her heart clenched fiercely, maternal instinct taking control, she was doing this for them and she wouldn't, no she COULDN'T fail them. She moved up the alley, careful to stay close to the building, hidden in shadow.

It didn't take her long to reach the marble steps of the bank. She remembered the place for the foul creatures that dwelled within. They epitomised the ugliness of this world, fanged teeth, gnarled claw-like hands and a personality to match. She didn't dare set foot on the marble, for fear of the creature's retribution. You didn't need to spend more than a few minutes in their company to know their sort, beings that would take corporal vengeance for the most innocent of crimes. She gazed around. From her location she could see three options; go back the way she came, go on along a similar path or venture into the unknown.

Even in the dark of night you could tell the third path was more perilous than its brothers. While the lanterns and candles of the others gave them a sense of twilight, the third seemed to absorb the very night itself, a veritable oblivion where nothing could be guaranteed. The distant sounds of scuffling permeated from the entrance, while a faint fog curled along the floor, crawling up the wrought iron arch, the top of which read Knockturn Alley. She knew it was her only chance at success, but could not bring herself to take the first step in its direction. To do so would take her from the safe reaches of the familiar into the realm of unknown.

She stood for a while debating the possible positives, until she heard them.

"You gonna be joinin' the celebrations later Nick?"

"If I'm not too tired, it's gonna be goin' on for week though, ain't it?"

"Course it bloomin will, not just any occasion izit?"

"Nah, just wish this shift'd hurry up an' end, you know?"

"Don't I just, three arrests already and not one of 'em sober"

"Better three drunks than on Death Eater though?"

"Tell me about it, Merlin bless Har-"

They were police! Visceral instincts overpowering her, she slipped down the sinister alley, without regard to the consequences. She had been backed into a corner with the authorities arrival, but instead of resentment she felt somewhat relieved. The decision had been taken from her hands entirely, perhaps another sign of divine intervention championing her cause? She moved cautiously down the alley, ears perked to each and every sound, a scurrying rat, an ominous hiss, both confirming that she was most certainly in the right place. A tinkling of a bell captured her attention echoing from the shop a few feet over where a man exited, shrouded in darkness. She caught a flash of long, silvery, platinum blonde hair reflecting in the moonlight before a sharp crack resonated and the stranger disappeared.

She didn't waste time pondering the man's disappearance, instead turning her attention his exit point. The shop certainly looked menacing enough, grime covered windows laying beneath a paint chipped sign reading Borgin and Burkes. It was now or never, she decided, having come so far it would surely be sin to turn back now. She readied herself for the inevitable encounter; she would not allow herself to be intimidated! Her normality would prevail upon them! Readying her expression, she allowed a firm frown to cover her face, before gliding into the store.

It was just as decaying and grotty on the inside as it appeared on the outside. Set out like an 18th century grocer, in place of food, the shelves were stacked with malevolent looking creations. Charred hands, deceptively beautiful jewels, items that seemed to gaze into her very soul. She passed them quickly, not willing to risk the artificial temptation of the vindictive devices. As she approached the counter, a man appeared on the other side. He was in every way inferior to her. Short, portly, balding, he wasn't worth the dirt his store was caked in; under her cloaked she smiled again, she would use this to her advantage.

"How can I help madam this evening?" The man said, raising a well-practised eyebrow at her arrogantly. She was momentarily struck dumb, that the freak, and ugly one at that, would dare believe her below him tipped her already precarious temperament over the precipice.

"Do not waste my time with pleasantries, I have private business." She ground out, the sounds hissing between her teeth. The man jumped almost comically, she had no idea what she had done to set him on such edge, but resolved herself to persist in her abrasive manner if it would give her the upper hand.

"M- my, my Lady Lestrange, is that you?" The man questioned, his gaze searching her timidly as he dared to question her once more. Her anger surged.

"It is no business of yours who I am; show me to somewhere private; immediately!"

The man started again, hurrying to open a door just past the counter and beckoning her in. She did not allow her hesitation to inhibit her, instantly rising to follow him through the door and along a short passage. They did not talk as they moved down the corridor, a blessing for which she was endlessly grateful. He heart hammered against her chest uncontrollably, bile rising up her throat threateningly. She was playing a dangerous game and she knew it. Whoever the man thought her to be was obviously a dangerous woman; and to keep such company, the man must be at the very least a danger himself. She would have to play the part if she wanted to make it out of this alive.

It was only a few minutes before the pair reached a small enclosure, a table and few chairs reigning centrepiece. She did not wait for him to offer her a seat, instead taking one of her own volition. Judging by the pudgy man's lack of surprise it had been the right move to make. Closing the door, he turned to her, his expression questioning.

"Silencing wards my lady?"

Oh goodness. He thought she was one of THEM!

"Are you so incapable that you cannot cast them yourself?" The woman hissed dangerously.

"No, no my Lady, I merely thought th-"

"Then you thought wrong!" She snapped, unable to restrain the tension coiling within her. Good fortune had apparently struck her again when the man seemed if not appeased by this then at least resigned to her behaviour.

"_Tollere sonus. Celare Secreta. Occulta Maxima." _The man whispered feverishly, his wand twirling in complex movements.

"How can I help my Lady?" he simpered, crossing to take a seat opposite her. He was a sycophant, obviously intimidated by her, whomever he believed her to be. She pulled the hood further over self-consciously. It wouldn't do for him to discover her true identity now. There was too much riding on her success.

"I find myself in need of an intermediary; I have something slightly questionable I wish to be rid of."

"Of course, of course my Lady," he responded, beady eyes glinting greedily. "-and what exactly is the nature of this item you wish to be rid of?"

She stiffened slightly. This was it; all of the risks she had taken had led her to this point. Her hesitation overcame her momentarily. There would be turning back from this point. Did she truly believe this necessary? Of course it was. She couldn't dare risk keeping it, not in the house, not with her family living there. With a final mental reinforcement she carried out her objective.

"It's a child." Petunia Dursley replied.

**-November 2****nd**** 1980-**


End file.
